


shuichi's humble burger barn.

by akemisunako



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Happy's Humble Burger Barn, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Crossover, F/M, Gore, Implied Relationships, Injury, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27538441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akemisunako/pseuds/akemisunako
Summary: Shuichi opens his eyes wide, breathing, shaking, shivering. There’s a calm female voice off to the distance, in a language that he understands but doesn’t register, not until he grips the steering wheel in front of him.He’s got to… he’s got to go to work.The car launches forward and he begins to move. Trees leer at him from either side, perfectly cut and symmetrical, and the road is smooth and the night above him is purple, red, black, clear, with no stars. There’s some music coming from the radio, disjointed and janky like a collapsed marionette. The sound of the engine cuts on and off and then back on again, but he keeps driving smoothly.
Relationships: Akamatsu Kaede & Saihara Shuichi, Akamatsu Kaede/Saihara Shuichi, Momota Kaito & Saihara Shuichi, Momota Kaito/Saihara Shuichi, Oma Kokichi & Saihara Shuichi, Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	shuichi's humble burger barn.

Shuichi opens his eyes wide, breathing, shaking, shivering. There’s a calm female voice off to the distance, in a language that he understands but doesn’t register, not until he grips the steering wheel in front of him.

He’s got to… he’s got to go to work.

The car launches forward and he begins to move. Trees leer at him from either side, perfectly cut and symmetrical, and the road is smooth and the night above him is purple, red, black, clear, with no stars. There’s some music coming from the radio, disjointed and janky like a collapsed marionette. The sound of the engine cuts on and off and then back on again, but he keeps driving smoothly. 

A bus off to the road, sunken into the grass and deserted. It disrupts the trees.

He drives into the parking lot and parks on the side, just as he’s told. He enters the building. It’s quiet - he’s alone after all. He’s meant to be alone.

Follow instructions. Read all the instructions.

His hands reach out and touch the poster, his legs move him closer to it. These are the instructions. A rat runs over his feet. The lobby song - he can’t hear it, why can’t he hear it? - is playing. He flips the sign. He waits.

…

..

.

ding dong, dong ding! 

Someone comes in, slowly, sorrowfully, like the tune of Clair de Lune… what’s Clair de Lune? 

This person has hair reaching to her chest, a purple skirt, a dirty pink vest. She’s bruised all over. Her neck holds a bright tinge of lilac. Despite her injuries, she moves so smoothly, so graceful like she always does, and Shuichi begins to shake again. 

He takes a deep breath. She seems so nostalgic, so melodical, he wants to reach out and grasp her hand again, he wants to see her again-

The voice begins speaking again. 

She’s speaking now, a high pitched voice that he’s never heard before, that he never thought he’d hear, and she’s shaking too. He goes to make her order.

She ambles slowly off, a little less graceful now, clutching her faded bag in one hand. Her other was cut off when the piano closed.

…

..

.

Take out all the trash from the kitchen.

The ceiling above him - he didn’t notice it earlier - is uneven, distorted, glitchy. The black lines seem to jump out at him and the smooth dotted white reaches towards him. He drags himself into the back room and picks up one of the large, shiny black bags.

He walks outside, into the warm freezing night air, and hauls the bag to the dumpster. He throws it into the black dotted with white. It falls down a long chute, and he hears the squelching sound from below. When he looks into the dumpster, it’s the black dotted with white again. It doesn’t smell like anything.

He repeats the process for the other bags. Throwing the last one in, he turns around. A sound plays from somewhere.

Investigate the noise.

He hears the announcement jingle, and then a buzzing sound that won’t cease playing. The back door is locked and closed. Moving through the side of the building, he places his hands on the front wooden door. 

The lights are out. He feels through the tables and tries to find the light switch. There! Behind the counter, near the instructions. He flips it on and the world goes quiet.

Someone put a chair on the back door so he couldn’t come in. Is someone playing pranks on him again?  
  


…

..

.

  
  


ding dong, dong ding! 

Another person meanders into the room, knocking things over, a stark contrast to his usual saunter. His purple hair is ruffled, his eyes are dazed, and he has a tacky, dreamy smile on his face. He’s limping, hopping almost, but still manages to make it to the counter. There’s water on his face. Was it raining outside?

Shuichi almost- he almost expects him to yell again, to clap him on the back, to holler motivation at him as he does his last pushup in the courtyard in the dead of night. He wants him back. He wants to have that again, will give anything to have that again, just one more time.

The voice speaks again, louder this time, irritation creeping in. 

A torn purple sleeve - the other’s cut off - raises up, nears him, as almost to touch him, and he jerks back. This strange person who he’s never seen, who he’s always known, speaks in a low garble that he’s never heard before. He goes to make his order.

The customer marches slowly off, a little slower now. He’s clenching his faded bag in one strong, dark hand. His other is holding the leg he broke in the rocket. He disappears, and the lights shut off again.

…

..

.

Investigate the noise.

He tries to run, scared this time, but he’s only allowed to walk. He turns on the light switch and the noise shuts off. Everything goes quiet again, and he can see the diner. It’s shifting, glitching now, but it’s familiar and he can’t shake it off anymore.

Check the Drive-Thru Speaker outside.

Someone is speaking in the distance, the same low garble he heard earlier, and it’s getting louder and louder. He pushes towards the back door, and walks outside. A cow is staring at the drive in menu, the neon lights reflecting off of the statue. The menu he’s looking at has no words. Bright, shining pictures are a mishmash of incomprehensible colors. The buzzing sound has come back. 

The back door is locked, and he forces himself through to the brown front door and back behind the counter. The lights are off again.

…

..

.

  
  


ding dong, dong ding.

ding dong, dong ding! 

Another person comes in, while he’s turning the lights back on. He doesn’t see him until he turns around to face the doors again. It’s not raining.

This person is a mess of red and purple, water streaming down his face, and he’s screaming in pain. His joints are disjointed, and he’s walking towards the counter, slipping towards the counter, and no one can hear him. No one will find them, not here, not now, not ever.

The voice-

And he can hear him, all at once.

Kokichi’s screaming, crying, yelling at the top of his lungs, latches on to him, and Shuichi can hear him now. He can feel his ripped straightjacket, he can feel the warmth of his hand. Shuichi can hear him, Shuichi needs to get out, Shuichi needs to find the others, Shuichi can’t leave him here-

The voice begins speaking again, agitated, godlike. 

He throws the stranger’s hands off and goes to make his order. The person in front of him collapses.

This customer can barely pull himself back up again to receive his order, and he leaves a trail of dark red behind him. He drops the paper bag. He doesn’t think his hands work anymore, not after that metal slab came down on him.

He’s watching him from behind the counter.

…

..

.

In a dark, silver, underground room, with dirt on the walls, stands thirteen people and a pile of disjointed pieces. The pile is silver too - there’s a hand there, a foot there, an arm there - it’s all been taken apart. The fifteenth, an imposter, has long fled. The sixteenth is playing a game.

They stand all in rows, eyes murky, with their backs straight despite their pain, staring straight ahead. 

One has a purple ring around her neck, one has blood dripping from his head. 

One has a ripped black dress, one is so red and wet you can’t see the person. 

One is drenched in boiling hot water that never cools, one is bleeding from the neck, one holds her hands in a prayer that will never be answered. 

One is shiny, face and body swelled up in pain, one is holding her throat for the relief that will never come. 

One has a broken leg, one screams until his voice cuts out.

One has given up, one won’t awaken.

The ground shakes.


End file.
